


Catch Me If You Can Verse One-shot #7

by afterthenovels



Series: Catch Me If You Can verse [8]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catch Me If You Can verse, M/M, Oneshot, white collar au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterthenovels/pseuds/afterthenovels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Anomymous prompted</b>: I would love to see bits from when Kurt was on the run, how Blaine got wrapped up in the con man he was chasing, honestly anything more of the before.</p><p>Set before the main story. I've had this one lying around half-finished on my laptop for months, so it was high time I finished it. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me If You Can Verse One-shot #7

**Author's Note:**

> A surprise one-shot appears! ;D

The first time Kurt Hummel sees Special Agent Blaine Anderson in person is not in the empty garage where he gets caught, even though that’s what he tells Blaine when he cockily holds out his hand in front of all those agents and guns.

Technically it’s the fourth time, if you leave out all the times Kurt didn’t actually see him but just talked to him on the phone, or all the times Blaine almost caught Kurt just to see him disappear into a crowd. Or all the times they both stared at a picture of the other, wondering how their lives could have turned out differently.

Kurt sees Blaine in person three times before his first arrest – not that Blaine knows about any of those times.

 

**1.**

The first time Kurt sees Blaine Anderson – even though he doesn't know that’s his name back then – is at an art gallery in New York. He’s been going through a pop art phase recently, and the gallery is holding an exhibition on a new artist who has an interesting style and a very commanding sense of color. Kurt wants to forge one of her paintings and sell it to the highest bidder, and he’s currently casing out the artist's paintings at the gallery to figure out which one of them is worth his time and talent.

He carefully stops himself from lingering in front of any of the paintings for too long because that might catch the guards’ attention, but still commits a few of them to memory, already mentally planning what sort of paints and brushes he’s going to need for this job. He’s dressed as an art student who couldn’t care less about fashion – an old hoodie with paint stains, loose jeans, and thick glasses perched on his nose, his hair drooping over his forehead – and he’s staring at the last painting in the exhibition when he notices him.

There’s a man in a well-cut dark gray suit talking to one of the curators near the front desk, his dark hair slicked down with too much gel and his hands on his hips. He’s cute, in an uptight, government-official kind of way, and Kurt can’t help but smile when he looks at the man from the corner of his eye.

He always did have a thing for good-looking men in nice suits.

Another curator walks up to the man just then, and the man flashes her a polite smile before reaching for something in his pocket. Kurt has completely forgotten about the painting in front of him when he watches the man say something, obviously introducing himself to the other curator, and then he pulls out a badge from his pocket, and–

Fuck. He’s from the police, or judging from the suit and the overall demeanor, from the FBI.

Kurt turns back to look at the painting, keeping his breathing calm and trying not to let anything show, even though being so close to an agent is enough to make him want to flee as soon as possible. He knows that logically the agent can’t be here for him, that this is just an unfortunate coincidence – but it also means that Kurt has to say goodbye to his plans of forging a painting by this particular artist. That would be just stupid, after he’s seen an agent visit the only gallery in the city that has this artist’s work showcased.

Kurt has done a few bigger cons recently, things that would have certainly put him on the FBI’s radar, and he’s not about to push his luck when he’s just getting started.

He pushes his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and turns around towards the gift shop, intent on keeping his cover for as long as he’s inside the building. He buys a postcard of one of the paintings – that’s the sort of thing an art student might do, right? – and then very casually strolls out of the gallery. The agent is still talking to the curators when he leaves, gesturing at the space with his hand and saying something that makes his face look even more serious than before.

What a shame, in more ways than one, Kurt muses when the gallery door closes behind him. The guy was really cute, after all – for a fed, at least.

A few weeks later Kurt finds out from his sources that the FBI has assigned one Special Agent Blaine Anderson on his case. Kurt likes to know what he’s up against, so he digs into Anderson, finding out anything he can. On paper he sounds just like another officious agent with a relatively impressive track record despite his young age, an agent who’s obviously getting his first big shot with Kurt’s case.

Kurt finds a picture of him, one where he’s standing near a crime scene with a few other agents, his arms crossed over his chest, and that one picture makes Blaine Anderson seem a lot more interesting than all the other police officers and agents Kurt has met so far. He’s wearing a nice suit and, what’s more important, an authentic vintage tie that immediately catches Kurt’s eye. The man’s got style, Kurt will give him that.

It’s only when he’s studying the picture for a second time that he realizes why Blaine Anderson looks so familiar with his gelled hair and serious expression.

He was unknowingly thwarting Kurt’s plans at that art gallery before he was even assigned on his case.

A worthy adversary, at last.

 

**2.**

The second time Kurt is running for his life through the streets of New York in the middle of the night, dodging a few passers-by and stumbling to a stop when he sees an alleyway full of dumpsters on his right. His shoes skid on the asphalt, but he wastes no time rushing towards the dumpsters and squatting down behind one of them, his own breathing loud in his ears.

Blaine Anderson is _good_. If it wasn’t for him, Kurt would be happily robbing a private gallery right now instead of hiding from the FBI behind smelly garbage cans in his designer shoes and glancing around to make sure he has several possible escape routes if he’s noticed.

He thought he was done with dumpsters after all the bullying he went through in high school. Funny how life turns out.

It’s been a year since Blaine Anderson was assigned on his case, and Kurt has learned to respect him; to almost... _like_ him, not that he would ever admit it to himself, or, god forbid, to Santana. Anderson is better than any of the others Kurt has crossed paths with in his career – more persistent, more clever, more surprising. And a good conversationalist as well. Kurt called him once, not really expecting Anderson to realize it was him less than a minute into the conversation, but he did. They still had an interesting conversation about the current art scene in New York before Kurt hung up on him, scared by how easy it was to talk to an FBI agent who knew who he was and still seemed to have no problems talking to him like an actual human-being.

It almost makes him wonder if...

But no. This is his life now. This, and nothing else.

A few agents rush past the alleyway, a blonde man and an Asian woman barking orders at the others, but they only glance at the alleyway before disappearing in the direction Kurt was running at before. Kurt leans his back against the dirty wall behind him, catching his breath. He’s just going to stay here for a few moments longer and then make his way to his current hide-out, preferably taking as many short-cuts as possible. He was excited about this job, and now Anderson completely ruined it.

He can hear approaching footsteps again, and he shifts closer to the shadows, cringing when his shoes end up in mud. The footsteps stop right next to the alleyway, followed by heavy breathing, and then–

“Anderson here, do you copy?”

Kurt leans forward, still staying behind the dumpsters. Anderson is standing right in front of the alley, one hand leaning on his thigh and the other holding a radiophone. He looks winded, which in itself is strange – Kurt has studied Anderson enough to know that he’s in extremely good shape and is usually the one running ahead of the other agents.

The radiophone crackles, and then the voice of another agent comes through. “Copy that. No sign of the Songbird. We must have lost him.”

Anderson curses, straightening up and placing his free hand on his side. Kurt squints his eyes. Anderson is still breathing heavily, almost wheezing, and he’s holding himself stiffly, like he would much rather sit down than keep standing up.

“What’s your location?” he says into the radiophone, grimacing as he turns around and looks up and down the street.

“We’re at the corner of– Blaine? Dude, are you okay? You sound really weird.”

“I’m– I’m fine,” Anderson stutters out, but Kurt can see him massaging his side with his hand and swaying on the spot. “This... bike messenger ran right into me when I was running out of the gallery and I...” He stumbles. “I think I hit my head pretty hard? Or my side.”

“Shit,” the other agent’s voice comes from the radiophone. “Stay where you are, boss, we’re on our way back already, okay?”

“I told you not to... call me boss,” Anderson breathes out, and then his legs give out under him and he falls down, the radio phone flying from his hand and hitting the pavement with a loud crack.

Kurt’s eyes widen, and before he has a chance to stop himself, he’s already pulling himself up and rushing to Anderson’s side. He might be a criminal, but he’s not heartless, especially not towards a man who was weirdly polite to him on the phone despite their situation.

Kurt squats down on the ground, carefully placing his hand on Anderson’s chest. He seems to be unconscious, and Kurt can see some blood on his right temple, but at least his breathing is strong and almost steady. He probably just has a minor concussion, and instead of realizing that and taking care of himself he decided to run after Kurt.

Officious agent indeed.

Kurt sighs and looks down at Anderson. He had almost forgotten how good-looking he is – he’s not wearing as much gel as he was the last time Kurt saw him, but his tie is still vintage and his face still serious, even when he’s passed out on the street. Kurt thought he was cute when he saw him at that art gallery over a year ago, but now he’s realizing that Anderson is actually... handsome, like a leading man from an old Hollywood movie.

And then it hits him, the thought pushing through his mind like a freight train swerving off tracks.

“You’re going to be the one who catches me, aren’t you?” Kurt says in a low voice, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He can hear voices and footsteps coming closer, most likely the other agents coming back already, so he takes one last look of Anderson before standing up again and shaking his head. His shoes are ruined, this job is ruined, and now he’s getting sentimental over an FBI agent. God, what is wrong with him?

Without looking back, Kurt slips away just as the other agents turn a corner and rush in to help Anderson who seems to be stirring already. None of them even realize that the con-man they were after was right there mere seconds ago.

(A few days later Kurt can’t stop himself anymore. He calls Blaine – _Anderson_ , his name is Anderson, not Blaine – and hangs up as soon as he hears Anderson himself answer the phone. He’s just making sure his favorite adversary is still alive, that’s all.)

 

**3.**

The third time doesn’t happen on a job. Kurt is between jobs at that moment, preening over the success of his previous con that the police or the FBI haven’t even noticed yet, and trying to figure out what he should do next. There are so many things he wants to do, so many cons he wants to try his hand at, but he also has quite a reputation already, and he can’t be as reckless as he was during the early days of his career. He needs to be careful, plan carefully and choose his targets carefully, because the FBI isn’t backing off and sometimes it feels like they’re getting closer and closer every single day.

Kurt doesn’t like that feeling. It reminds him of too many things he'd rather not think about anymore.

But every now and then being careful and clever gets too frustrating and claustrophobic, so he’s spending the day at Central Park, breathing in the fresh air and pretending that he doesn’t have to be so careful all the time, even if it’s just for a few hours. It’s actually one of Santana’s lessons, from back when she was still teaching him the basics and before Kurt stopped needing anyone’s help – that even con-men need a break every now and then, and though Kurt hates to admit it, she is right.

(Her other lessons included teaching Kurt how to pick pockets with very colorful analogies to fingering and other sex-related things. It was mortifying. Kurt still has nightmares about those lessons.)

Kurt sits down on a park bench and adjusts the sunglasses on his face. It’s a beautiful day, sunny and warm with a small breeze in the air. If he ignores his thoughts, if he ignores his instincts, he can almost pretend that he’s just a normal person, out on a walk in Central Park, enjoying the sunshine before going back to his nine-to-five job.

He misses it sometimes. He misses being a normal person.

A group of kids run past him, giggling and screaming. Kurt smiles at them and then glances at the other people around him. There’s an old lady sitting on a bench on the other side of the path, reading a thick novel with a concentrated expression. A few teenagers are lounging on the grass nearby, talking and gesturing wildly until one of them obviously tells the punchline of her joke and the others burst out laughing. A jogger is rolling his shoulders next to the teenagers, wearing loose shorts and a t-shirt that stretches quite nicely over his chest, dark curls framing the man’s face. The man tilts his head to the side as he bounces on his feet, then tilts it back up again and–

It’s Anderson. Special Agent Blaine Anderson, without a suit or the usual gel in his hair, looking relaxed and calm as he gets his muscles warm.

Kurt’s first instinct is to get up and run as fast as he can, but it’s obvious that Bl– that _Anderson_ hasn’t noticed him yet, that he’s not there to follow Kurt’s movements or anything. He’s just taking a run, most likely before going to work, and he doesn’t seem to even realize that Kurt’s watching him. There’s some distance between them, and Anderson is definitely more focused on stretching than on anyone else around him.

Kurt swallows. It’s weird, seeing Anderson like this. He’s so used to the neatly pressed suits and the gleaming gel, to the serious expression and hands placed on hips, that this version of Anderson is just... weird. Of course he knows that Anderson must have a life outside of the FBI as well, as officious as he is, but it’s still– It’s like a reminder, just like their phone calls are sometimes, of the fact that the agent pursuing him isn’t just an agent. He’s a person, an actual person who seems...

Who seems like someone Kurt would like to get to know, if the circumstances were different.

Kurt shakes his head, trying to turn his gaze away from Anderson. He’s been hit with these sudden moments of nostalgia more and more recently, moments when he wishes his life could be different and almost aches for something else than the life he’s living right now. He misses so many things, he misses so many people, and he almost wishes he could walk up to Anderson and talk to him face to face like a normal person. They have such interesting conversations on the phone, and talking to Blaine without the distance of a phone line between them could be... nice.

But that’s not how his life works. That’s not how Kurt’s life has worked for years, and he can’t just go back. There are no other choices for him.

Anderson finishes his warm-up, rolling his shoulders one last time before he starts jogging away, curls bouncing around his head and feet hitting the path in an even rhythm. He looks so different. He looks so _normal_ , and Kurt’s heart aches again.

He follows Anderson with his eyes until he disappears behind a corner, a few trees obstructing his view. Kurt pushes himself up from the bench once he can’t see him anymore, forcibly driving the stupid nostalgic thoughts from his mind. This is his life now, and for this life to continue he needs to come up with another job. That’s all he can do.

He starts walking back to his current hide-out, keeping the silly dreams he still has from his old life out of his head. He’s cleared his mind enough for one day, and now it’s time to get back to his life as a con-man.

 

**+1**

Kurt wants to scream or cry or shout, but there are dozens of FBI agents around him, their guns pointing squarely at him, and he has nowhere to hide in this stupid empty garage. He thought he would find Finn here, that maybe he could finally start working on one of those old dreams he can’t seem to get rid of – and that thought made him stupid and reckless, made him ignore double- and triple-checking everything, and now he’s finally been caught.

His hair is a mess and he’s wearing an old pair of jeans. This is definitely not how he ever imagined the end of his career happening.

“I guess Finn isn’t actually here then?” he sighs, looking at the agents around him.

Anderson steps forward from the group, in one of his stylish suits again, hair gelled neatly and that same old vintage tie around his neck. Kurt was right all that time ago when he looked at him lying on the pavement and said that Anderson was the one who was going to catch him. He doesn’t know how he feels about that yet. He’s still too disappointed, too tired of this cat-and-mouse to even start thinking about anything else.

“Your brother?” Anderson asks, and for a moment he looks sorry, his eyes softening as if he wishes things had happened differently as well. “No, unfortunately this is a set-up.”

Kurt looks into Anderson’s eyes, remembers all the times he’s watched him from afar or talked to him on the phone. This is the first time Anderson sees him, and Kurt knows he can do a better first impression than this.

So he straightens his back and smiles, finds every ounce of confidence he has left and lets it show.

“Agent Anderson,” he says slowly. Anderson raises his eyebrows in question. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I can see now that photographs don’t do you justice,” Kurt finishes with a flirty grin.

Anderson rolls his eyes, but there is a small smile playing on his face. Kurt grins a little wider and then lowers his other arm, paying no attention to the agents who tighten their grip on their guns around him. He knows they won’t shoot him unless Anderson orders them to, and he also knows that Anderson would never give an order like that.

He extends his hand towards Anderson, and after a moment Anderson huffs out a laugh, amusement shining from his eyes. He takes Kurt’s hand and shakes it, firm and reliable, the touch sending something warm through Kurt’s body, and he can’t help but let his smile grow even more.

Something flashes in Anderson’s eyes, some sudden sadness or regret, but it’s gone just as fast as it came. Kurt can feel the cold metal of the handcuffs around his wrist, and the click as Anderson closes them echoes through the garage.

“Kurt Hummel,” Anderson says, his voice steady and formal, “you are under arrest.”

Kurt winks, hiding his true emotions behind the con-man exterior he has spent years and years perfecting. “So I figured,” he replies cockily.

And that’s how it all ends.

(Or maybe it’s just the beginning.)


End file.
